


Bruised

by catjeno



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Mark Lee & Suh Youngho | Johnny Are Siblings, Minor Injuries, Platonic Relationships, i am such a sucker for johnmark’s shenanigans, kind of inspired by kick it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:08:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24280108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catjeno/pseuds/catjeno
Summary: Distantly, Mark wondered what he must look like right now. A gaunt boy covered in bruises and cuts, huddling against the hard concrete wall wrapped in the ugliest green blanket in existence. Definitely not the most inspiring sight, he thought.Alternatively,Mark pays the price for trying to play hero. Well, he supposes he got lucky this time. It could have been a lot worse.
Relationships: Mark Lee & Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	Bruised

**Author's Note:**

> so i actually wrote this without the intent to publish it, i've been writing little fics off of a hurt/comfort prompt list to just practice my writing (the prompt for this one is also the title i so creatively came up with) so as a result this one is definitely rough around the edges. however this kind of tied into the kick it concept so i thought it'd be fun to publish in celebration of punch coming out! i sprinkled references to kick it in here so see if you can resist cringing when you find them lol

Mark wished he’d brought his earbuds. Or, maybe that wouldn’t have helped; his phone had broken anyways. Crushed when he was slammed into that brick wall earlier. He sighed and stared at the scuffs on the white floor, not wanting to make eye contact with that scary cop sitting a few feet away again.

He huffed. His whole body ached, and the hard wall his back was resting against was not helping in the slightest. The adrenaline from earlier that night was all but gone, he didn’t know how much longer he could be cooped up in this police station before he went crazy. Where was Johnny?

He sighed and closed his eyes, mind drifting to the fight.

Dark streets. Wind biting through his sweatshirt. The distant cry for help. Demanding to leave the woman alone. Throwing a punch. Pain. Head throbbing as he got slammed into a wall. More pain. A flurry of movement, a fight that he definitely lost. The taste of iron on his tongue. Police sirens.

Mark chuckled to himself. Johnny was going to freak when he found out Mark had kicked a guy in the face. A wave of guilt washed over him suddenly. Johnny was probably worried, Mark knew _he_ would have been if he got a call from the police station at almost midnight.

“Excuse me,” a light voice snapped him out of his thoughts. His eyes shot open to find a police officer in front of him, crouching to be eye-level. She was holding an old green blanket in her arms. “Would you like this? You seem a little cold.”

Heat climbed up Mark’s probably bruised cheeks. Great, the whole police station had seen him shivering against the wall. He limply took the blanket with a muttered thanks, too embarrassed to say anything else. The officer gave him a warm smile, half-filled with pity, before getting up and walking off to wherever she had come from.

Cheeks still burning, Mark wrapped the blanket around himself. It was thin and scratchy, but warmed him up better than the worn sweatshirt he had on. Distantly, he wondered what he must look like right now. A gaunt boy covered in bruises and cuts, huddling against the hard concrete wall wrapped in the ugliest green blanket in existence. Definitely not the most inspiring sight, he thought. Now he could see why that officer gave him the blanket in the first place.

He rested his head against the wall, really hating the monotony of the station right now. A dusty clock on the brown wall ticked, slower with each passing second. Papers shuffled at the officers’ desks. Someone across the room coughed, another cleared their throat. Distant footsteps squeaked occasionally on the floor somewhere, probably adding more marks that some poor janitor would have to clean.

“Hey—”

Mark blinked. Johnny was suddenly crouching over him, looking frazzled and very, very worried. Since when had Johnny gotten here? Did Mark fall asleep? Mark opened his mouth to speak but his brother beat him to it.

“Are you alright?” Johnny put a hand on Mark’s shoulder, sending another wave of guilt through him. “What happened?”

A police officer, different from the scary one or one that gave Mark a blanket, approached them and asked Johnny if he was Mark’s guardian. Johnny replied yes and was beckoned to the front desk, apparently needing to sign some paperwork before they could let Mark go. It was clear the officer also wanted to explain why Mark was here in the first place, so Mark didn’t follow yet. The less explaining he had to do meant the faster he could go to bed.

From his spot against the wall Mark could catch most of the hushed conversation. He let out a breath of relief as he caught “not in trouble” and “protocol.” Of course, the cops told him they only brought him to the station so his guardian could pick him up, but he had still assumed he’d be getting a smack on the wrist for being out past curfew.

Lucky for him that wasn’t the case, and a few minutes later Mark found himself being shuttled out of the most boring room in existence and onto Johnny’s motorcycle. Next thing he knew he was being shoved into the bathroom in their apartment, Johnny in tow with a first aid kit.

Mark stopped in his tracks when he saw himself in the mirror. His left cheek was pink and puffy, the eye above it was already starting to bruise. Cuts on his forehead and lip glinted angrily with dried blood, the dull red a screaming contrast to his gaunt skin. Taking off his sweatshirt, he realized the bruises weren’t just on his face. They blotched down his arms and torso, painting his skin a grotesque mix of purple and red. He winced when he recognized a particularly large bruise where he had been elbowed in the chest.

“I look like shit,” he said.

Johnny snorted. “You think? Sit down, I need to clean those cuts.”

Mark did as he was told, flipping the toilet lid down and sitting on it as Johnny rifled through the first aid kit. “So, stopping a robbery,” he started as he pulled out a small bottle of peroxide from the kit. “I did not expect my little brother to do that when I woke up this morning.”

Mark huffed. “You’re not gonna ask why I was out past curfew?”

Johnny shrugged. “Give me your hand,” was all he said. Funny, Mark didn’t even realize his hand was bleeding. “Can I ask instead why you decided to play hero?” Johnny said.

“Well what would you have done if you heard a scream for help? I couldn’t just ignore it—Ow!” Mark jumped at the sudden searing sensation on his hand, which had just been doused in peroxide.

“Sorry,” Johnny muttered, trying (not very hard) to hide a small grin. Mark shot him his best attempt at an icy glare, which couldn’t have been too threatening considering his black eye.

“I got to kick a guy in the face, though. It was so badass. You should have seen it, he just went down!” Mark shot up and threw a few punches at the air, nearly hitting the wall twice.

“Okay, Bruce Lee, I get it,” Johnny said with warm eyes. “Now sit down before you put a hole in something.” He reached up and led Mark back to his seat. Mark groaned at the nickname but obeyed, flopping down on the toilet lid.

There was a beat of silence as Johnny wrapped gauze around Mark’s palm. “In all seriousness, you could’ve gotten hurt much worse than this. You were lucky those people didn’t have a gun on them. You can’t always play spiderman, or whatever other hero, you have to be careful.”

Mark just nodded, wincing as Johnny dabbed some peroxide on yet another cut.

A few minutes (and some more bandages) later, Johnny declared Mark’s injuries were no longer in danger of immediate infection. With gauze now unnecessarily wrapped around a large portion of his arms, Mark was finally able to leave the bathroom.

Out of habit, he pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time, but of course the stupid crushed thing didn’t turn on. He sighed and set it on the kitchen table. He would worry about that in the morning.

“Hey,” Johnny said just as Mark turned to go to his bedroom. “Want some hot chocolate?”

Mark grinned. “Isn’t it like, one A.M.?”

“1:17 actually,” Johnny gestured to the clock on the stove, “But close enough.”

Mark smiled and took a seat at the kitchen table. He let his thoughts wander, picking at the bandages on his fingers as he listened to Johnny shuffle around the kitchen. The soft clinking of mugs being taken off the shelf, the water heating in the kettle (because, face it, they were too lazy to warm up milk), the muffled click of the fridge door. The sounds were familiar, calming. Mark melted into them graciously.

Something slid towards him and the sweet aroma of chocolate filled his nose. He took the mug with a sleepy smile and gave it a cautious sip. By some miracle it didn’t burn his tongue like usual, in fact, this time it was the perfect temperature. It was warm, cozy.

Johnny sat down next to him and took a sip of his own drink. Coffee, from the smell of it. Even though it was this late at night, Johnny was drinking coffee. Mark smiled wryly to himself but didn’t comment. He didn’t want to ruin the calm silence just yet.

His mug was half empty before he spoke. “Thank you,” he said. Or more accurately, mumbled. Trying to stop three guys from robbing someone had taken its toll, Mark was exhausted. “For everything tonight, I mean.”

“Please,” Johnny reached out to ruffle Mark’s hair. “You’re my little brother, it’s my job to look out for you.” He paused to take a drink from his mug. “Let’s just hope that black eye heals fast, I don’t know if I could stare at that ugly thing for a week.”

Mark just rolled his eyes, smiling as he took another sip of his cocoa.


End file.
